Temporary Truce
by thejordipie
Summary: Continuation of "Fool for Love"; on the back porch of the Summers' house, Buffy and Spike share an uncertain and unspoken truce while Buffy worries about her mom and Spike tries to almost comfort her.


_Continuation of "Fool for Love"; Buffy and Spike on the back porch of the Summers' house._

He doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't know what he's _thinking_. The gun was on the porch beside him, and yet here he was, sitting next to her silently, trying to….offering to….what, _comfort_ her?

This was not how he had planned his night would go.

The silence stretched. Buffy was clearly not going to break it, and Spike didn't know how to. Didn't know if he should, really. She wasn't currently trying to kill him, and he had gotten over his temporary intent to kill her.

Spike tipped his head back under the pretense of looking at the stars again, but snuck a sideways glance at the girl next to him instead. Buffy's jaw was clenched, eyes staring straight ahead; a single tear rolled down her cheek and Spike looked away. The slayer next to him was that; a slayer. A warrior. The thing that things like him had nightmares about. She wasn't supposed to cry. It made him uncomfortable. The Vampire Slayer crying and hugging herself like some little….

...girl. A young girl, which she was. Sometimes he forgot that. Thinking on it now, he hadn't really thought about how young she really was, especially when compared to someone from the 1800's like himself. Barely out of high school, really; couldn't quite call her an adult, not yet. And here she was charged with the task of fighting the forces of vampire and evil kind.

So yeah, she should be allowed to cry in the privacy of her own backyard over….whatever it was that was upsetting her so. A sudden thought struck him, and he blurted it out without thinking.

"Is it something I did?"

It's the first thing that's been said since he had asked if there was anything he could do. Buffy inhaled sharply and he clenched his jaw. Why hadn't he just stayed quiet? Things had been okay for a moment between them. _Nice going, you ponce, you're going to get your a-_

"...no."

Her reply was so quiet, Spike almost thought he had imagined it. But he hadn't, and he couldn't help the weird kind of relief he felt at knowing he hadn't been the cause of her distress. Well, this distress, at least.

"Oh," he said lamely, and then they fell into silence again; not quite awkward, but nowhere near comfortable silence. More of a truce, he thought, thinking again of the gun at his side and her chosen-ness to kill him and his kind. He tipped his head up again, not looking at Buffy this time, but to the night sky, contemplating their situation. Kind of poetic, in a way. Beneath the stars, on the back porch of her home, the slayer and the vampire have struck an unsaid, unsure truce.

The silence stretched.

Buffy exhaled slowly, one long, slightly shaky sigh, and he looked over at her when she raised her hands - was she going to hit him? - to wipe at her eyes. Her silent tears had only just stopped, and she rubbed the tear streaks away slowly, semi-automatically.

Spike almost wanted to do it for her, like it was up to him to make her feel better. Which it wasn't, pft. Not by a long shot. _(but then why am I still sitting here?)_

While turning her head to wipe at her eyes, Buffy's gaze caught Spike watching her silently. He tipped his head to the side slightly, not daring to speak and ruin the truce, to try to ask, "Better now?" The purest-vampire-part of him wasn't sure whether or not he wanted her to be; part of him was still furious about how she'd treated him. Part of him was wanting to cackle gleefully at seeing his enemy so vulnerable. But most of him, the part that made him... _him_ , (he couldn't lie to himself about it) wanted to see her back to normal, to help her in some kind of way.

Somehow, Buffy understood his subtle body language, and gave a slight nod. He nodded back, once, and she looked away, staring down at her shoes instead of straight ahead. She exhaled slowly again, and it was steadier than the last one.

Silence fell again.

Spike was just starting to wonder how long they'd been sitting there, and if he could get away with lighting a smoke without getting smacked up and down the yard, when Buffy startled him by speaking.

"What's with the gun?" she asked, her voice still quiet, but steadier and stronger than her half-whispered "no" of earlier.

"Huh?" Spike froze. "Oh, uh…." What was he supposed to say? 'I was just coming by to kill you' or 'Just thought I'd pop by and blow your head off, luv, but then I saw you crying and decided "nah"'? Not bloody likely. He scrambled to come up with something, trying to keep his face smooth so as not to betray the fact he was scrambling. He turned and picked up the shotgun, placing it in his lap, barrels facing away from Buffy. He stared at it, thinking of something to say.

"I just uh….looking to go a few more rounds, is all. See what this bloody chip will and won't let me get away with. But, it doesn't matter now," he tacked on quickly, sneaking a glance at her to gauge her reaction. She hadn't moved. Spike looked back down at the gun across his lap, and huffed a half-laugh out his nose, shoving the weapon off his lap and onto the lawn, shaking his head at himself for thinking he could come here and kill her. Buffy looked over at the gun landing at the bottom of the stars, then back to Spike, and they caught each other's eye again.

"Oh," Buffy said finally, looking away. She closed her eyes and rolled her head back and forth, stretching her arms out in front of her, almost like she was trying to shake off the sadness of before. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not really in the mood for 'a few more rounds'." She was trying too hard to sound more normal, they both knew. They both ignored it. "Maybe I can kick your butt some more another time."

"Tch, wouldn't be so sure of yourself without the army's handicap," he scoffed back, gesturing at his head with one hand, and resting his other arm on his knee. This was automatic, easy; trading insults and quips. The normalcy of it eased the awkwardness of the non-verbal truce, in a way. They weren't friends, they weren't enemies; they didn't like each other, sure, but he had spent the night telling her his life story then had walked in on her crying over something. The awkward was still there, sure, but was getting less as they steered back to more familiar waters.

But this was still a new situation, and they were both figuring it out, figuring where they stood out. Usually Buffy would have something quick to fire back at Spike after his sentence, but instead, she just gave a weird lip twitch, and fell silent again.

Something was _really_ wrong. Had to be, to still be bothering her after….however long they'd been here. Having a cry about it hadn't helped, and Spike found himself thinking that maybe he could.

Which was ridiculous. She was the slayer, he was a vampire, there was no way she would accept help from him of all people, let alone open up to him about what was-

"You know my mom, right Spike?" she asked, and he voice was back to the soft, trying-not-to-cry type. She was staring straight ahead, biting both her lips, and her hands were clenched into fists in her lap.

Confused about where the conversation was going, Spike furrowed his brow, cocking his head to the side and surveying Buffy curiously.

"Er, yeah, s'pose so, pet," he answered. "Nice lady. What's that got to-?"

"Something's wrong," Buffy admitted in a rushed whisper, like she didn't even mean to say it. "They don't know what, and she has to get a CAT scan and stay overnight and-" as quickly as she had started talking, Buffy stopped, snapping her mouth shut. Tears welled up again and she turned away from Spike.

Spike blinked in surprise, taken aback that she had said anything to him; he'd been certain he would've ended up gathering his gun and bits of reputation and pride, and leaving without knowing the hows or the whys of this little late night truce. Then he blinked again, processing what Buffy had just told him.

"Joyce is sick?" he repeated, feeling something similar to concern twinge deep inside. "Is-"

"We don't know that," Buffy snapped, and then she was talking and it was like she didn't know how to stop. "She's been feeling kind of off lately, and the doctor's don't know what's wrong, so they're keeping her overnight to observe her and CAT scan her and and, I don't know, other medical-ish-treatment-erize her!" Buffy threw her hands up in the air and Spike almost flinched out of their way. "I don't even know _why_ I'm telling _you_ this, you're just going to make it into some kind of sick joke, or use it to get to me or or or-"

"I wouldn't do that, not about this," he cut in sharply, and Buffy stopped ranting in surprise, taking note of his harsh, serious tone. He didn't notice Buffy turning to look at him in surprise. Spike considered telling her of his own mum, and the blood she would spit up from coughing so hard she couldn't stand, but decided against it. After all, he'd told her so much about himself tonight anyway. He looked down at his boots, flexing his feet up and down on the stairs.

"No use beating yourself up, Slayer, it's just something that happens to humans." When he looked back at her, it was to find her staring him down silently, eyes shining with unshed tears, and her brow half furrowed in thought. He returned her stare.

The moment stretched into eons.

"Yeah. Humans," she eventually agreed softly, and he suddenly wasn't all too sure she had been paying attention to what he had said exactly to agree to it.

A clatter from inside the house had both of them spinning to face the back door, muscles tensed and ready for action. From inside, they could hear Dawn yelling, "I'm okay! All good! No casualties!" and they relaxed, turning back to their original positions of facing the yard.

Neither of them knew what to say next. The awkward and silence had crept back into their little late night back porch powwow, and it felt heavier and more permanent than before. Spike almost wished he hadn't said anything at all, if only to have preserved the almost-peace between him and the beautiful brave young woman next to him.

Spike watched her; he was good at observing, very quick to pick up on signals and read between the lines of people. But Buffy? That girl would be the death of him. Should he say more, or was now the time to leave? Pat her shoulder once more, tell her good night, wish her mum luck? He couldn't figure, and didn't want to screw this up, lest he go back to his crypt as a walking bruise.

In the end, it was Buffy that moved things along. Upon another clatter within the house, Buffy sniffed hard, wiped her eyes hastily (he hadn't seen anymore sign of crying; had he missed something?) and abruptly got to her feet. "I um, I should get back in with Dawn…. Help Mom pack," she said, but didn't move to do anything.

Spike sat still for a moment, craning his neck to look up at her, before shaking his head, muttering, "Right," and getting to his own feet. Now she had to look up at him. They stayed there for a second, trying to figure out where to go from there, how to end this, what this was. Spike spoke first.

"Right," he said again, gesturing from himself to the backyard. "I'll be off then." He turned, clumped down the stairs, and only just remembered to sweep his shotgun off the ground as he went. He almost couldn't remember why he had had it here in the first place, but then he remembered and something akin to shame made him hunch his shoulders and walk a little faster.

Behind him he could hear the back door of the Summers' house open and close, and imagined he could feel the last of the temporary truce evaporate. Plowing his way through the back hedge, he heaved a sigh and shouldered his gun, turning down the street and setting off for his crypt.

 **A/N: It's been years since I've written a word of fiction, and even longer since I was really, truly, honestly inspired to write anything. And then I watched the entire series of Buffy and Angel within, like, a month and a half, and the creative juices are flowing, and the words are writing themselves in my head, and I want to tell stories again.**

 **So along with the million other things the Buffyverse has given me, it's returned to me the urge and creativity to write again. I hope to be contributing more soooooooon!**

 **In regards to this one, I went back and forth for a while if I wanted to write it from Buffy or Spike's POV, but in the end I thought maybe I had Spike's voice down a little better, but I still kind of want to give it a go with the Buffinator. Any tips or pointers on how to write either one would be greatly appreciated; I'm very rusty with writing and new to the Buffy fandom so any feedback is welcome!**

 **Edit: Made a couple slight edits to try and keep it a little more true to the characters. As much as I wanted to keep some of the things I cut, it really didn't make sense to have Spike open up to Buffy as much as he I had him do at this point in their arc. Many, many thanks to friendrat for helping with the characterization 3**


End file.
